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Challenge Ended
Lets shed some reality on mental illness. It's not cute, it's not a joke and it's not an excuse: Write about a panic or anxiety attack. I'd love to see poetry, short stories and glimpses into who you are.
Ended February 21, 2017 • 67 Entries • Created by CMB
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Challenge
Lets shed some reality on mental illness. It's not cute, it's not a joke and it's not an excuse: Write about a panic or anxiety attack. I'd love to see poetry, short stories and glimpses into who you are.
Cover image for post overthink, by zikeda
Profile avatar image for zikeda
zikeda
415 reads

overthink

oh god, i'm sorry

i'm so sorry

tonight, i'm

sleepless

thinking of

unsaid words,

haunted by

syllable ghosts

tonight, they

whisper

it's you,

it's you

the space

between texts,

the distance

between friends

oh god, i'm sorry

i'm so sorry

today, i'm

hopeless

drowning in

self doubt,

submerged by

paranoid waves

today, they

bellow

it's you,

it's you

the reason 

they leave,

the moments

they grieve,

oh god, i'm sorry

i'm so sorry

today, i'm

hopeless

tonight, i'm

sleepless, and

tomorrow, i'll

still believe

it's me,

it's me.

47
11
13
Challenge
Lets shed some reality on mental illness. It's not cute, it's not a joke and it's not an excuse: Write about a panic or anxiety attack. I'd love to see poetry, short stories and glimpses into who you are.
Cover image for post "Mind In A Cage", by Stacy13
Profile avatar image for Stacy13
Stacy13
289 reads

“Mind In A Cage”

Frozen here

In panic and fear

I cannot move forward

I can no longer react

My body just seized

I'm under attack

I try to breathe

But it's suffocating me

What's on my mind to

Cause such distress

Things I have said and all my regrets

The trembles start and the

Fast beating heart

My mind in a cage with thoughts I Can't explain

Trying to understand it

Leaves me feeling emotionally drained

At times I feel like a empty shell

Living in anxieties personal Hell

My mind is a prison

Maximum security

These emotions in me

Are extremely debilitating

Anxiety's no joke

It's real

Not fake

A mental race

I can never escape

28
5
9
Challenge
Lets shed some reality on mental illness. It's not cute, it's not a joke and it's not an excuse: Write about a panic or anxiety attack. I'd love to see poetry, short stories and glimpses into who you are.
Cover image for post Just Breathe, by dLYNX
Profile avatar image for dLYNX
dLYNX
201 reads

Just Breathe

Let go! Let me breathe! 

My terror and my anger seethe

Beneath the surface, no reprieve

To look at me, you wouldn't believe

    That I'm broken

        Destined to grieve.

Please relax! Unclench your fist!

Every muscle inside me twists

I'll never reach the end of my list

Of things to do, you get the gist

    I beg forgiveness

        For all I've missed.

No, don't start! Please don't cry!

Why can't I learn to say goodbye?

Should I fall to pieces or live a lie?

Tempted to give up and get high

    I'll never make it

        As hard as I try.

Calm yourself! Get a grip!

Hands shaking with my bottom lip

Breathe in deep and screw on the tip

Let it out while into ink I dip

    My art, my life

        My reality slip.

21
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2
Challenge
Lets shed some reality on mental illness. It's not cute, it's not a joke and it's not an excuse: Write about a panic or anxiety attack. I'd love to see poetry, short stories and glimpses into who you are.
Profile avatar image for AmyKay
AmyKay
211 reads

Good Morning, Old Friend.

I awake to

Spring showers

Each drop

A tick tick,

Percussion parade.

The alarm rings 8

And like a curtain cue

The sky lifts her skirt,

And light

Bathes my bedsheets.

I am a warm wayfarer

Surfing sanguine

But barely breathing

Drowning

In anxiety

Before my feet

Have hit

The cold floor.

17
3
3
Challenge
Lets shed some reality on mental illness. It's not cute, it's not a joke and it's not an excuse: Write about a panic or anxiety attack. I'd love to see poetry, short stories and glimpses into who you are.
Profile avatar image for NorthernSiren
NorthernSiren
180 reads

ill at mind

I get that feeling inside

And it fills me with fear

I want to run and hide

But there is no safety near

I begin to doubt

That I will get through

And when I cry I pout

Because I deny what's true

Anxiety is the name

Oh it's so unforgiving

I don't want to play its game

I'm never winning

Never will I see

Why this happens to me

16
5
2
Challenge
Lets shed some reality on mental illness. It's not cute, it's not a joke and it's not an excuse: Write about a panic or anxiety attack. I'd love to see poetry, short stories and glimpses into who you are.
Profile avatar image for StephanieMarie
StephanieMarie
192 reads

Completely overwhelmed

Drowning in sound

Every conversation

Stands out too loud

Voices fighting voices

Can't quiet the crowd

Heart beats too fast

And I keep my head down

Try to make my way

To the check out

The people in line

All wear a frown

Their faces are mocking

I want to shutdown

The girl says next

And it's my turn now

My palms are so sweaty

As time melts around

The counter and things

In the background

She's got my bags

But I can't find ground

Have a nice day

And I'm breaking down

Bolt for the door

And I'm finally out

The air hits my lungs

And I'm finally found

15
1
1
Challenge
Lets shed some reality on mental illness. It's not cute, it's not a joke and it's not an excuse: Write about a panic or anxiety attack. I'd love to see poetry, short stories and glimpses into who you are.
Cover image for post Trapped, by RowRow1990
Profile avatar image for RowRow1990
RowRow1990
202 reads

Trapped

Trapped inside and unwavering mind

It’s laughing and joking and being unkind

It’s screaming, poking, whispering lies

Closing me off from others and ignoring my cries

Squeezing tighter and not letting go

Take a seat and watch the show

The pressure is building, about to explode

“You’ve fallen for it again” my mind laughs and goads

Trying to breath but my chest is constricting

Needing to move but body is resisting

Darkness swirling and closing in

Multiple layers flashing I see a skull with a grin

Craving someone with a reassuring touch

Then running and hiding as it becomes too much

Clawing at my insides and ripping them to shreds

As I look to unwind the mess of interlocking threads

Fighting with something that won’t let go

Another experience I’ll have to forego

Tears burn like acid as I try not cry

Adding to the pain and the scars as I wait to die

Locked in by a mind with an ever changing guise

Trying to hide from its trickery but become paralysed

As my heart beats faster trying to get free

A small part of my mind tries to escape being me

© Rowanne S Carberry

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Challenge
Lets shed some reality on mental illness. It's not cute, it's not a joke and it's not an excuse: Write about a panic or anxiety attack. I'd love to see poetry, short stories and glimpses into who you are.
Profile avatar image for hannahbean
hannahbean
137 reads

I wrote my first will at age 12

It always happened at night, which was 

'irritating'

'exhausting'

'embarrassing'

So I kept them to myself after a while.

I thought that I was dying, my

hypochondria and paranoia and

N-e-r-v-o-s-a, technical terms on Web M.D.

that only trickled down into my conclusion that

I would be dead by morning.

My heart was beating too fast, too hard

and my body ached like a 100-year-old man,

not like a scared adolescent girl who

couldn't control her breathing,

chest going up down up down

until it would finally flood with something and 

s t o p  

w o r k i n g.

I would apologize to the thin air for things that I had done that day, 

that week,

things I couldn't even control:

I could have beaten Atlas with the weight on my shoulders.

My possessions would have been divvied up equally amongst my family members, so

when they finally found my corpse laying in bed

they would have a clear cut way to take apart my room. 

I made sure my whimpering

wheezing

whining

and watery eyes

were quiet enough so that the rest of my house could sleep.

All of that worrying must have scared them to death.

13
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0
Challenge
Lets shed some reality on mental illness. It's not cute, it's not a joke and it's not an excuse: Write about a panic or anxiety attack. I'd love to see poetry, short stories and glimpses into who you are.
Profile avatar image for Bas
Bas
264 reads

Trapped

A stray thought knocks,

then nags,

playing freeze tag among

synapses.

Begging please.

No.

Not this.

Not now.

But as the walls close in,

breath grows thin

and becomes a limited commodity.

Lungs lock and capsize,

the key trapped inside,

swallowed by an irrational fear

that can’t be denied.

Heart races, then trips,

unable to keep pace

with the need to survive.

Get a grip--stay alive--

except there’s nothing

to hold on to.

No hope to get you through.

Nothing but a

dark, bleak chasm

that stretches and yawns

into infinity--

a mental maze of madness

with no way out.

And as you scream

and shake

and pray for release,

you face the unrelenting truth:

This never ends.

Not until the moment

your life really does cease.

11
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9
Challenge
Lets shed some reality on mental illness. It's not cute, it's not a joke and it's not an excuse: Write about a panic or anxiety attack. I'd love to see poetry, short stories and glimpses into who you are.
Profile avatar image for eclaire
eclaire
166 reads

My Mother’s Doll

Lissie cowered. That is, as much as a porcelain doll is capable of cowering. She focused on being small and invisible. Rage whirled around her in a fury of heat, screeching, and items being flung and left, broken where they fell. She felt the hot breath of rage turn its attention to her. It was what she dreaded. The world spun, in a loud and wild upset of aching cracks. As she lay on the hardwood floor, where she had been cast, glistening ringlets tumbling across her face, the world around her changed. She felt, but couldn't see, as she was lifted, more gently this time, and the broken pieces of porcelain were glued back into place. Good as new, with the exception of a few missing shards. 

Eventually, Lissie learned to be a girl, then a woman. But she never learned how to stop being a doll. She learned to glue herself back together, but each time, there were missing shards, and more fragile cracks. She saw the pattern, but not another option. The glue only held things together, it did not offer additional strength. Rage continued to take hold of her world, sometimes with the same, familiar voice of her girlhood, as well as deeper, stronger, more terrifying voices. With each new voice, it seemed as though the idea of breaking the pattern was increasingly impossible. 

After the porcelain turns to dust between the webs of glue, what will remain? Lissie wondered if she was the product or producer of her porcelain cage. 

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